


Assets

by hopeassassin



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:39:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeassassin/pseuds/hopeassassin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was no secret to anyone who knew him even remotely that Daiki was a breast man. He loved girls, and he loved girls’ boobs even more. Bigger was always better in his books. Many unfortunate under- and upperclassmen had heard his theory about how boobs were full of dreams, so of course having more dreams is better, dumbass. </p><p>Still, when he gives due appreciation to his girlfriend's assets, he realizes something. As much as he likes her breasts, he has come to appreciate her legs as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pumyra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumyra/gifts).



> Written for Pidgeon's prompt over at Tumblr: _"As much as he likes her breasts, he has come to appreciate her legs."_
> 
> This is my fill for it.

Although he had been the one to suggest it—so to speak—sometimes, it’s still difficult for Daiki to believe that it was a fact.

 

The fact being that Satsuki was now his girlfriend.

 

They had already been dating a few months—since spring break between second and third year—and it was all still somewhat new to him. While being in a relationship changed a lot of things, it’s not like they became completely different people.

 

He still believed she was the most annoying creature in the entire world when she nagged him to do the things he didn’t want to deal with. He still thought that she ought to loosen up and stop being such a goody-two-shoes about everything – you know, _live a little_ for a change.

 

She was still Momoi Satsuki, his best friend of seventeen years, his basketball team’s manager, his pain in the ass neighbour and his high and mighty classmate. He had known her so long, and he knew her so well that the only person who knew Satsuki better than him, was Satsuki herself.

 

And even though they were still inseparable, like they had been before, the context of their bond had changed significantly.

 

Whenever she nagged him too much about something he was unwilling to tend to, he could just grab her by the arms or shoulders and kiss her senseless—funny how that always seemed to derail her train of thought, regardless of how important she claimed the task she was making him do.

 

If she started being too pushy or too testy about something, before she could start screaming his eardrums off, rambling on and on about what an irresponsible bastard he was, how unreliable he was and _blah blah blah,_ he could just grab her by the wrists and pull her to his lap, hugging her to himself until she forgot completely why she had even come to find him in the first place.

 

Being in a romantic relationship with Satsuki had many perks, most of which he could gladly ramble on and on about, in a way that would be just a bit boastful.

 

A definite perk of dating a girl like her came in the form of the countless looks of varying intensity of envy and distaste thrown his way when the two of them were out in town together.

 

The truth was that he didn’t need others’ approval to know that his girl was quite the catch. He knew her best, so he was well aware that she was.

 

Still, there was a significant boost to the ego of every man when others take a look at his date and realize that they will never have a girl as awesome as her—because she was his and only his.

 

Not only was Satsuki drop-dead gorgeous with that exquisitely coloured long hair and succulent curves, but she was also smart enough to hold her ground in any argument (and more often than not win them all), and she was also one of the most caring people on the face of the planet (even if she went to great lengths to conceal that fact with her constant nagging and complaining).

 

There’s something about Satsuki that makes it impossible for people not to notice her. Being his childhood best friend and always there with him, of course he had always noticed her in a sense.

 

There had been one aspect of her that drew his attention in more successfully than anything else, and while they had still been just friends, he’d felt a bit guilty about it. Now that they were together, he had a whole different view on the subject—from the vantage point of someone who was authorized to not only look, but even _touch_.

 

Of course, what he meant was her chest.

 

Her beasts are, by far, one of her most impressive features—especially to him, and all the other boys their age. The size of her boobs make them impossible for anyone _not_ to turn their attention to them. Another thing that worked greatly to her advantage is that she had never felt the need to be self-conscious or modest about her chest—it’s just part of who she is, so she never tried to hide it. That’s why all her normal clothes are meticulously chosen to compliment her looks—and emphasize her cleavage tastefully while at it.

 

It was no secret to anyone who knew him even remotely that Daiki was a breast man. He loved girls, and he loved girls’ boobs even more. Bigger was always better in his books. Many unfortunate under- and upperclassmen had heard his theory about how boobs were full of dreams, so of course having more dreams is better, _dumbass_. That was why his getting together with Momoi Satsuki came to the student populace of Touou as no surprise.

 

As her boyfriend—someone who is supposedly allowed to touch her in such ways—Daiki wastes no time in cropping a feel of the heavenly softness every chance he gets. He loves squeezing her breasts—especially when there’s no fabric between his hands and the recipient of his attention.

 

He adores the feeling of the weighty flesh overflowing from his palm as he cups them in bed. He loves the sounds he elicits from her throat when he tweaks a pert, sensitive nipple between his fingers while she’s in the throes of ecstasy underneath him. He is on cloud nine whenever she lets him bury his face between her breasts—they make the most awesome pillows his head has ever had the pleasure of laying upon.

 

Her boobs are not the reason he fell in love with her—he is not that shallow, don’t be fucking stupid. However, he’d be a liar if he were to say he wasn’t enjoying the perks of having a girlfriend with such ample endowment.

 

And, as much as he likes her breasts, he has come to appreciate her legs.

 

It wasn’t something that came to him quickly: after all, he was a teenage boy. Directing his attention anywhere else but her chest was next to impossible for him. Her breasts were so divine to him that he knew he could spend a lifetime fondling them and he still wouldn’t have had enough of those.

 

Still, when he started getting some, finally getting to aerate some of that sexual tension out of his system, it put things in a bit of a different perspective. He was still a breast man, and his most favourite place to be was either naked, nestled between her spread legs, or head placed between her cushiony breasts.

 

However, the more time they spent together, the more evident it became to him how perfect all of her was—not just her impressive bust.

 

He had always thought of her as perfect. She was Satsuki—no matter what she said or did, she would always be perfect in his eyes.

 

Nevertheless, the more chances he got to see sides of her he hadn’t before, the more he became able to see things he hadn’t taken note of.

 

It’s mostly thanks to the numerous times he finds himself spreading her legs apart before he lowers his head between them to taste the essence of her perfection that he notices how flawless her thighs are. There is no excess body fat in them—they are neither too thin to seem sickly, nor too thick to be too meaty and repelling. Her skin is so fair and white and smooth, he can’t get enough of kneading the flesh of her inner thighs and calves whenever they are tangled together.

 

He loves the feel of her delicate, perfect legs wrapping around his waist, driving him further into her and keeping him close while he rocks against her, bringing them closer and closer to their peaks. He loves feeling her drape one leg over his as she presses her body into him after they’re done with the strenuous bed activities. He loves the sight of her delectable legs peeking from under his shirt that she sometimes throws on in the mornings after—he finds it most endearing and strangely arousing how it hangs off her body, much too large for her tiny frame and making for more of a dress with how much of her it covers than an actual shirt.

 

And although her thighs are nowhere near as high up in his list as her breasts were for this, on rare occasions she actually allowed him to rest his head on her lap in public—something she would never let him do with her chest if there was even the slightest chance of someone seeing them.

 

He couldn’t see it when he was standing next to her—because he was so freakishly tall when they were side by side—the vantage point didn’t allow him much perspective on the matter. So it’s only when he’s standing aside, looking at her from a distance or while staring at her through half-lidded eyes still in bed that he can see it—how flawless her legs actually are.

 

She doesn’t do any kind of sport and she spends so much time sitting down, analysing all her data and making those insanely accurate predictions of hers, that he can’t help being amazed at how perfectly toned her leg muscles are. How does she do it? It boggles his mind. Whenever he presses his hips into hers, nudging her knees apart, he spends at least a second or two to appreciate the perfect curves of her legs as they move aside to accommodate him between them.

 

Aomine Daiki is a man of many quirks. He never would have suspected that he would be a man so severely affected by the sight of his girlfriend—and, more accurately, his girlfriend’s long, slender legs—in beige pantyhose and a pencil-straight skirt that gave her an air of strictness and business-like appeal.

 

When she showed him that outfit for the first time, and asked him what he thought—it was her attire of choice for her first serious job interview—they spent several hours in the bedroom, with Daiki expressing in a multitude of positions what exactly he thought of her clothed like that.

 

He finds his fascination a bit unhealthy—he doubts there would be many who would be able to understand it, not to mention relate to it.

 

Then he remembers that he doesn’t particularly care what others would think even if they knew.

 

None of their opinions mattered: because as long as he had Satsuki, in all her long-legged perfection, all to himself – nothing else was worth giving a damn about.

**Author's Note:**

> A bit pointless but hopefully not disappointing! Was pleasant to write, so I hope it makes for a pleasant read as well. ^.^


End file.
